Raising Nargles
by sylphides
Summary: Hermione knew, with the clarity of the mad, that her once-vaunted mind was eroding. But the sunny smile of her lover would be one of the last things to fade from her vanishing self.


**Disclaimer: I do not own any components of the HP universe. **

**Warning: AU, Mentions of torture, mild femmeslash**

They rarely came into her cell now. In the beginning, she had spent more time out of the dank dungeon cell than in, and most of that time screaming and writhing on the floor from some hex or another. She had been their entertainment, then—_see-who-can-be-most-inventive, _or _most-efficient-torturer _were frequent games, after they'd determined that she knew nothing else of significance that they'd already raped from her mind.

But the Death Eaters slowly grew bored, as men and women are wont to do. They came less and less often, and the torture sessions became flippant _because-I-can, because-you-deserve-it _type affairs, quick and dirty and down to the point. What was left of Hermione's self was grateful. It was almost wonderful to feel the familiar irresistible pain of the Cruciatus Curse, after days—_weeks—_of never knowing what she might have to endure. She lived in particular horror of the curse that had made if feel as if she were drowning, even as she gagged and choked on dust motes and laughter. And perhaps she hoped a little that one day, someone would go too far with the Cruciatus and leave her permanently in oblivion, unaware of how far down she had come, the brightest witch of the era.

Then came the time when Hermione realized she had lost every vestige of how long it had been since she had been captured, or the last time she'd been tortured. There were no windows down in the dungeons of Voldemort's stronghold. She only knew that the days passed by the regularity of the pittance of food and water that magically appeared, once a day. It might have frightened Hermione how she didn't care that she'd finally lost track of time, or that she didn't even know if anyone was still alive but Death Eaters in the world anymore. It might have frightened her, if she hadn't begun to lose her mind around the same time.

She knew, with the clarity of the mad, that her once-vaunted brain was eroding, deteriorating, fading with her physical body. Hermione briefly wondered if this was how Bellatrix had gone insane in Azkaban—with the trickle of time and Dementors continually wearing away at the woman until all that was left was the mad cackling and screams, and the devotion to her Dark Lord. It must have been, because Hermione thought that the last things that would fade from her vanishing self would be the memories of how a book felt in her hands, the sunny-serene smile of her lover, and the undiminished fierce loyalty to Harry.

_Harry. _If she had been Harry, trapped in this nightmare, she would have escaped, maybe even given Voldemort a parting shot and a livid green stare as potent as the Killing Curse. If she had been Ron, she would have known with a certainty past doubt that she would either be rescued or die in the rescue attempt. Weasleys never abandoned each other, and the family was army enough to storm even the Dark Lord's fortress.

If she had been Sirius, before his death, Hermione was sure that she would have torn the castle apart to get back to Harry. Sirius had been like that. Remus—Remus might have been similar to Hermione, actually. Hermione thought Remus might have tried, as she herself had, to find a way to escape, and, finding none, resigned himself to the once-daily piece of bread and endured his monthly transformations, all the while praying that Harry would be okay. Hermione wished she could emulate Remus' dignified presence, but she could only lie in the dark and not think of anything but herself: the way her ribs ached all the time, how much she missed the feel of paper pressed to her skin, and when her next meal would arrive.

If Hermione had been Snape, she would have done one of two things. If Snape had known his game was up, his spying days over and had nothing of vital importance to tell the Headmaster, Hermione deliberated that Snape would simply lie down and die quietly and peacefully. No fuss, no bother, no drawn out drama or any way for the Death Eaters to discover the wealth of knowledge he held in his mind about the workings of the Order of the Phoenix and Albus Dumbledore. No need for a risky attempt at rescue that would endanger any other fighting member that might be needed to protect Potter. She suspected Snape carried a vial of instant death, quick and painless poison, for that purpose exactly. On the other hand, if Severus Snape had information vital for the cause of the Light, he would have gotten that information to the Order—most likely at the cost of his own life, but he would have afforded the Order yet another advantage over the Death Eaters. Either way, Snape would have died a hero's death, whether he was regarded as such or not. His entire life was dedicated to the end of the Dark Lord's reign, and Hermione—when she had still cared—had admired the ruthless dedication Snape was capable of, the things he had done in the name of Light.

But Hermione wasn't Snape, or Remus, or Sirius, or Ron, or Harry. Hermione couldn't do all those things the others might have done. She could only do what she did in captivity, gradually dulling and dimming, her soul flickering dangerously, guttering and creeping closer to the moment when the darkness that surrounded her would finally extinguish it, extinguish her. Hermione couldn't bring herself to care anymore, not even knowing her own demise would happen soon, and long before her actual body stopped breathing and existing.

It was at the point when Hermione couldn't even be bothered to get up immediately when the daily piece of bread and cup of water appeared, that she was suddenly struck with a question, and it had been so long since she had been surprised by anything that the question became even more significant.

What would Luna Lovegood have done in her place?

It was a different question. Luna, Hermione remembered through a haze of months, had _been _captured before. It had been two months for her, two months in the Malfoy Dungeons before being rescued at the battle of Malfoy Manor, when Voldemort had fled and gone to ground and Lucius Malfoy had died protecting his son, his son who had turned to the Order and betrayed his family and his Lord by letting in the Order of the Phoenix. Different place of captivity, different circumstances, but Luna had—in some way—been in this position that Hermione had been in before.

Luna hadn't told anyone much of what had happened. When she'd been pulled out of her cell, blonde hair dirty and unwashed and disheveled, she'd merely smiled dreamily at the Auror and thanked him before pointing out the Blibbering Humdinger that was following him around like a dog.

Hermione sat up fuzzily, and her world tilted alarmingly for a moment before angrily righting itself and muttering all the while. _What would Luna have done here? _She glanced around the unlit room. _Well, she certainly wouldn't have turned her nose up at nourishment. Some imaginary creature might get to it before her, after all. _Setting her feet on the floor, Hermione heaved herself off the planks that masqueraded as her bed and tottered her way over to the food.

After eating, Hermione felt more—_substantial, _somehow. And more clear-minded. _What would Luna do now? _There was literally nothing to do, no books to read, no problems to solve, no one to talk to, nothing to watch…nothing.

_"Oh, but I had several lovely conversations with the nest of baby Ornitha Killiplars. They were really quite polite, and kept me up to date on how Draco was doing when he couldn't make it down to tell us any news about the Order. And once, I even saw a glimpse of a Heliopath at one of the Death Eater's heels, probably a pet." _

Search for the invisible, nonexistent creatures of Luna's fantasy? Luna certainly had been virtually unchanged from her stay at Malfoy Manor, despite Draco's reports on several bouts of torture, except for the tendency to hum softly at all times and vanish at odd hours to be by herself. How had she managed to stay mostly sane, her mind intact and undiminished by the long captivity?

Hermione contemplated the issue for a long time—or at least, it felt like a long time. She fell asleep still pondering Luna's eccentricity. They say if you have a question, you should sleep on it and in the morning you'll have resolved it. Hermione woke in the darkness again, but in the minutes or hours or days of her sleep, she had come to the conclusion that it couldn't hurt to look. What did she have to lose? Her pride? It was in tatters. Her reputation? There was no one here to see her. Her mind? It was already half-gone and fast vanishing anyway. Was there any harm in truly believing that Luna's creatures were real?

Sluggishly, for the first time in—who knew how long—Hermione shook off her listlessness and stood, raking her eyes over her surroundings. Her eyes had long adjusted to the gloom of her prison, and she was able to make out almost everything in the room. _Chamber pot. Door—no handle on this side, magically sealed. Large bloodstain over in the far corner, several other odd-shaped stain marks that aren't blood—not sure what they are, though. My plank-bed, shoved in the corner, one thin sheet that smells like feces and sweat. _

Nothing else. Frowning, Hermione surveyed her little kingdom again, this time at a slower pace. _All right, where are these Ornitha Killiplars and Blibbering Humdingers? _She cleared her throat, and called, her voice rusty with disuse. "Hey. Is anyone—anything—listening?"

Silence. She went on, "If you're here, won't you come out? I won't hurt you. I don't think I can, honestly."

There was nothing. Hermione sighed, and began to move inch by inch across the small cell, examining every bit of space for any hint of habitation other than her.

**--Break--**

In the undeterminable amount of time that followed, Hermione spent much of her time calling, searching, or just talking to the invisible creatures she became convinced were there, somewhere.

"I wonder if Harry is still alive," she mused to the empty space before her. "Has he finally given way and married Ginny yet? He was still stubbornly worried that being involved with her would make her a target for Voldemort when the Death Eaters nabbed me. If a year hasn't passed yet, I would be twenty-two. When I was a kid, I always thought at twenty-two I'd be graduating from a university somewhere to become a dentist like my parents or maybe another sort of doctor. Or a researcher. My mother told me lots of times I would be good at that job, that I'd discover so many things and become famous because I was so smart and good at finding out new things that even they didn't know before."

"Hey, I don't even know if you like me or not or if you're a friendly sort of animal. You could be like a Heffalump or Woozle from Winnie the Pooh, all scary and dangerous and biding your time until I'm too weak to do anything but lie here and let you eat me. Or something." Hermione paused, smiling whimsically at the parade of colorful creatures that paraded across her mind's eye from her favorite books as a child. "But I really would like to see you once, before I die. It would be nice, to see what I've been talking to, you know?"

Distant thumps_. _Was that its voice, or perhaps it's feet? Hermione pulled herself up as hurriedly as she was able to, skeletal fingers clutching at the wall for support. There was still nothing to see, but she could hear many muffled somethings outside her door now.

_Creak. Creak. _Wide-eyed, Hermione watched the door, where the sounds were emanating from. Could it be a Heliopath, like the one Luna had seen at Malfoy Manor? It certainly would be welcome—she felt cold all the time now.

Torpidly, as if the action it had been made for was foreign to it, the door groaned itself open. Hermione blinked at the first light she had seen in ages, and as her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she gasped.

"Beautiful…" She moved wonderingly, staring at them, peeking at her from the glorious blonde hair, some dancing around the head like a halo. She hadn't realized she was speaking aloud, but Hermione murmured, "They are so beautiful…the Nargles. I didn't know they lived anywhere else but mistletoe…" And smiling tranquilly, Luna with the Nargles around her wispy hair caught Hermione up in an enthusiastic embrace while behind her, cries of shock and joy revealed Ginny, Ron, Harry, and so many other people crowding around. As she was carried out and Hermione grasped the fact that everyone looked years older and that there were the dead bodies of Death Eaters scattered around the small lump that had been Lord Voldemort, Luna whispered in her ear, "I've been raising these Nargles from the mistletoe you hung at the Burrow two years ago, and they wanted to come with me to find you when we were ready to attack Voldemort's stronghold. They've missed you a lot Hermione, you know. And so have I."

**--break--**

Luna watched placidly as Hermione murmured something in her sleep and turned over, hand searching for the warm body that was supposed to be in bed with her. As the seeking hand became more insistent, Luna hurried from the door where she had just come in from using the bathroom and slipped in between the covers, grasping the hand gently. Instantly, Hermione's face relaxed and Luna sighed with contentment, brushing stray hair from Hermione's face and settling down. She glanced over to the doorway, where an abundance of mistletoe denoted the Nargle-nest. From the scared little babies Luna had discovered, the day Hermione hung the mistletoe for Christmas twelve years ago, just before she had been captured and held prisoner until Voldemort's defeat and death a little over two years later, there were now an entire family of them, seven adults and six baby Nargles. Christmas was approaching again, which meant the Nargles that were coupled would probably have another litter soon.

Luna was grateful to the Nargles, more grateful than Hermione would ever know. She rather thought the little creatures had had a big hand in helping Hermione recover from two years of captivity and solitude and torture. Luna thought Hermione was one of the strongest people she knew. After all, it wasn't very many people who could, by sheer force of will, keep the numbers of Wrackspurts that had infested her head during her imprisonment from blurring her mind altogether. A lesser person would have succumbed to the haziness Wrackspurts always induced in their victims, but Hermione had managed to retain her sanity even with a full family of Wrackspurts dwelling in her for goodness knows how long, without the proper equipment necessary to exterminate the nuisance creatures. If that wasn't strength of will and a strong mind, what was? It was one of the many reasons Luna loved Hermione, and she'd quickly done an emergency extermination as soon as she could once they'd rescued Hermione. She'd never told Hermione just how dangerously close she had been to going mad from extended exposure to the deceptively benign-sounding animal—Bellatrix Lestrange had never recovered from all those years of infestation in Azkaban, after all. _Why did Wrackspurts seem to like prisons? _At least Luna hadn't had to deal with any in the Malfoy Dungeons, because Draco kept the place free of them.

Still, the Wrackspurts had been defiantly stubborn and it had taken Luna a long time to rid Hermione of the menace, and it had finally been the Nargles who chased the invaders out of Hermione's head. Hermione hadn't been the same since, but she wasn't crazy like Bellatrix—she was still _Hermione, _with the same bright smile and love of learning, just quieter and thinner and with a knack of fading into the background. Luna didn't care. If the Nargles didn't mind living in Hermione's hair temporarily—and they had no problem with it—then Hermione couldn't be bad like Bellatrix had been, after all. As Luna drifted off to sleep with Hermione's soft body pressed to hers, Luna was perhaps the most grateful of all for that—Hermione was still all here, and with her.

_**A.N.:**_** I truly don't know where this piece came from. I don't write femmeslash—heck, I don't even READ femmeslash. And I never pictured Hermione and Luna together at all. So…yeah. The Wrackspurts made me do it. :) **

_**Glossary:**_

**Blibbering Humdinger: according to Lexicon, an unspecified species of creature many people believe don't exist**

**Heliopath: A spirit of fire that likes to gallop across the ground, burning everything in sight**

**Nargles: Creatures that commonly infest mistletoe. I took the artistic liberty of letting them be able to temporarily survive in places like hair.**

**Wrackspurts: Invisible thing that floats in through someone's ears and makes a person's brain go fuzzy**

**And my own invention, the Ornitha Killiplar, is a bird-like creature that have chameleon qualities, being able to shift colors to blend into its surroundings. It learns whatever language is most spoken around it, so if a Killiplar was raised by humans who spoke English, it would speak English, and if a Killiplar was raised by a set of parents who's own grasp of language was dog-language, they would learn to talk in dog-language. **


End file.
